Medal of Honor recipient for action at the Battle of Chaffin's Farm during the Civil War.
Rank and Organization: Private, Company H, 54th Ohio Infantry. Place and Date: At Vicksburg, Miss., 22 May 1863. Birth: Cincinnati, Ohio. Date of Issue: 12 July 1894.
Citation: Gallantry in the charge of the "volunteer storming party."
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For superb gallantry and reckless indifference to death and danger, there is nothing in military history to excel the conduct of the "forlorn hope" that led the general assault on Vicksburg on May 22, 1863. General Grant had encircled the city on three sides with a line of battle twelve miles long, and on the Mississippi, which formed the fourth side, were Admiral Porter's warships. The strength of the enemy had been greatly underestimated, and it was decided to make an attempt to carry the city by storm, in order to avoid the tedium of a siege. The enemy's lines ran along the top of a bluff, and the point of attack selected was to the south of one of the forts. This fort, which was protected by a ditch twelve feet wide and five or six feet deep, rose about ten feet above the level and sloped up gently towards the enemy's guns. The face of the fort was perpendicular, the earth having been tamped, instead of being allowed to adjust itself. The point of attack was in front of the Second Division of the Fifteenth Army Corps, and on the afternoon of May 21st, each regimental commander of the division explained the plan of operations to his men and called for volunteers. One hundred and fifty men were required for a "forlorn hope" to lead the general assault and prepare the way for the real attack. As these men would be certain to draw the enemy's fire, there was little probability of any of them returning alive, and on that account it was decided not to order any man to go, but to depend entirely on volunteers. Each regiment was to supply its quota, and in view of the terrible risk to be incurred, orders were given that none but unmarried men were to be accepted. The men responded promptly to the call, and in such numbers that twice as many volunteered as were required, those who had first offered their services being accepted.
The work assigned to the "forlorn hope" was to build a bridge over the ditch which protected the front of the enemy's fort, plant their scaling ladders against the embankment, and it was expected that by the time this was done, the supporting brigades would be ready to carry the works by a grand assault.
On the following morning the storming party was led through a ravine to the Jackson Road, which crossed the enemy's lines at right angles. In this ravine, out of sight of the enemy, was a pile of roughly hewn logs, another of lumber, and a. number of scaling ladders. The advance party was to carry the logs, two men to each log, make a dash for the enemy's entrenchments and throw the logs across the ditch to form the ground work of a bridge. The second detachment was to follow close up with the lumber, which was to be thrown across the logs to make sure footing for the stormers. The third detachment was to bring up the scaling ladders, rush across the bridge, and plant them against the enemy's works.
The moment the "forlorn hope" emerged from the ravine, they came within view of the enemy, who opened so heavy a fire on them that their works were covered with clouds of smoke. The gallant little band advanced at a dead run, but, in the eighty rods of open ground which lay between them and the fort, about half of them were shot down. When the survivors arrived at the ditch, they found it impossible to build a bridge, as so many of the logs had been dropped by the way, and it was equally impossible to remain where they were, exposed to the enemy's fire. There was nothing for it but to jump into the ditch, and seek shelter. Private Howell G. Trogden, who carried the flag of the storming party, planted it on the parapet of the fort, and dropped back into the ditch, where he kept up a fire on the Confederates whenever they attempted to reach it and take it in.
The other brigades advanced to the support of the stormers, but were driven back by the heavy fire, and all that reached the ditch were thirty men of the Eleventh Missouri with a colonel, major, and two lieutenants. They planted their flag along side that of the storming party, and sought shelter where they could, in the ditch, or in holes dug in the embankment. The Confederates finding it impossible to depress their guns sufficiently to reach them, dropped 12-pounder shells. among them, but the fuses were cut too long, and consequently did not explode for about ten seconds. This gave the stormers time not only to get out of the way, but even to toss some of the shells back over the parapet, otherwise not a man would have survived. As it was, the bottom of the ditch was strewn with mangled bodies, with heads and limbs blown off.
The Thirty-seventh Ohio Volunteers, who were advancing to the support, became panic-stricken and broke. The men lay down in the road, and sought shelter behind rocks and inequalities of the ground. They refused to either advance or retire, and lay there for hours, blocking the way of the regiments which were coming up behind, thus compelling them to make a long detour, and deliver their attack on the left of the enemy's position. While making this detour, they were exposed to the fire of the enemy for nearly the whole distance, and were so weakened in consequence, that they failed in their attack.
The assault had now failed at every point, although Admiral Porter's ships had kept up a heavy bombardment, and the Federal troops were obliged to withdraw and seek cover, from which they kept up a heavy and well sustained fire. All this time the men in the ditch, unable to either retreat or advance, held their position with the utmost tenacity and weakened the fire of the rebel guns by shooting down the gunners. In order to dislodge them, a gun loaded with grape was dragged to a position where it would enfilade the ditch, but sharpshooters shot down the gunners, before a single round could be fired. Others attempted to take their places, but it was certain death to approach the gun, and it was abandoned.
All day long, from 10 o'clock in the morning until darkness fell, the unequal fight went on; then the little body of survivors crept out of the ditch, carrying with them their flags, riddled with bullets, and made their way back to their own lines. Of the storming party eighty-five percent were either killed or dangerously wounded, and few of them escaped without a wound of some kind.
When the storming party withdrew, they left behind them William Archinal, who had been stunned by a fall, and who was afterwards captured by the enemy. Archinal and another man had been carrying a log between them, and had neared the ditch, when his comrade was shot. His sudden fall and the consequent dropping of his end of the log, threw Archinal to the ground, where he struck his head against a stone and he became unconscious. His adventure is best told in his own words; he says:
"When I came to my senses, I was lying on my face with the log across my body and showers of bullets whistling through the air and dropping all around me. These bullets I found, came from my own division, and to save myself from being shot by my own comrades, I wriggled from under the log, and got it between me and them. It was providential for me that I did so, for I could hear the bullets striking the log in dozens. Sometime during the afternoon one of our cannon balls struck the log close to my head; the log bounded in the air and fell a little way from me, but I crawled up to it again and hugged it close. The firing continued incessantly all day until nightfall, when it gradually slackened, and finally died away altogether. I thought I could make my way back to my regiment, but as I was rising the butt of my gun which was slung on my back, attracted the attention of the enemy above me. Half a dozen rifles were pointed at me, and I was ordered to surrender, which I did, considering discretion the better part of valor.
"When I was taken into the fort, a rebel officer came up to me, slapped me on the shoulder, and said: 'See here, young man, weren't you fellows all drunk when you started this morning?' I replied: 'No Sir. Well, they gave you some whiskey before you started, didn't they?' he said, and I answered: 'No Sir, that plan is not practised in our army.'"
"Didn't you know it was certain death, he asked me again, and I replied:" Well, I don't know, I am still living."
"'Yes", he said, "You are living, but I can assure you that very few of your comrades are!"
"I was then placed in charge of a guard, taken to the city and put into the yard of the jail where I met some fifty or sixty of our men, taken at different points during the day. The jail yard was enclosed by a high brick wall with large sycamore trees growing inside. I was nearly dead from fatigue, so immediately crawled into one of the tents put up for our accommodation, and was on the point of dropping off to sleep, when our mortar boats on the Louisiana shore opposite Vicksburg, opened fire on the city, throwing their 450-pound fuse shells promiscuously all over. Of course, there was no sleep for us that night, and just about daylight one of those shells struck the jail, the roof of which was covered with slate. I made a jump for one of the sycamore trees, but before I reached it, a piece of slate from the roof cut the rim of my hat in front of my face as clean as though it had been done by a razor.
"A southern man, suspected of being in sympathy with the Union cause, was located in one of the cells, and when this shell burst in the lower part of the jail, the poor fellow was nearly scared to death. He clung to the iron grating of the window and prayed to God that Grant might come that very minute, and take the God-forsaken city and everybody in it.
"About nine o'clock A.M. an officer came and took our parole, and then with a small detachment, of rebel guards, we were marched down to the river in front of the city. The guard intended to escort us to the Louisiana side and deliver us to our own men, but our mortar boats, suspecting this to be merely a ruse of the rebels, and fearing an attack, opened fire on us, dropping big shells all around us into the river. We pushed off in yawls as quickly as possible, and after getting out a little way we did not fear them, as they could not elevate the mortars sufficiently to do us any harm. Thus after many narrow escapes I reached our own lines in safety, a paroled prisoner, having been under fire ten hours and in captivity about twelve."
Uriah H. Brown, was one of the section that carried the logs. His captain was shot dead at his side and his lieutenant dangerously wounded, but he kept on till he reached the ditch. He threw his log across, but found it too short to reach to the other side. While considering what he could do he was shot down and tumbled into the ditch. When he came to his senses and found the enemy dropping shells into the ditch among the wounded men, he set to work to drag them into sheltered positions. He had got three of the wounded into a safe place, when one of the officers forbade him to expose himself any longer. He lay quiet for a time, but the longing to get back came over him and he climbed out of the ditch and crawled for fifty yards exposed to the terrible fire, till he found a place of safety behind a little knoll. Two wounded men were lying near by, moaning in pain, and he crept out and dragged them under cover, gave them water and lay down beside them till nightfall, when he assisted them back to their own lines.
Corporal Robert Cox, Company K, Fifty-fifth Illinois Infantry, gives a humorous description of his experience at the assault:
"After Trogden had planted his flag on the parapet, the Confederates tried to capture it by hooking it in with the shanks of their bayonets, but failed, owing to the hot fire kept up by the sharpshooters. Thereupon Trogden asked me for my gun to give the enemy a thrust. This was a very foolish request, for no soldier ever gives up his gun, but I concluded to try it myself. I raised my head again about as high as the safety of the case would permit, and pushed my gun across the intervening space between us and the enemy, gave their bayonets a swipe with mine, and dodged down just in time to escape being riddled. I did not want any more of that kind of amusement, so did not undertake to force the acquaintance any further. After we had been in this predicament about two hours, they sent over a very pressing invitation to 'Come in, you Yanks. Come in and take dinner with us.' We positively declined, however, unless they would come out and give us a chance to see if the invitation were genuine. This they refused to do, but agreed to send a messenger. By and by it arrived in the shape of a shell, which went flying down the hill without, however, doing us any damage."
Jacob Sanford, commissary-sergeant, Fifty-fifth Illinois Infantry, tells that while with the storming party, he came out with no injury more serious than a sprained hip caused by grape shot striking the plank he 'was carrying. He had been very near death more than once, however, for he had two bullet holes through his hat, nine through his blouse. The bullets in passing through his hat, had carried away locks of hair with them in their course.
The names of the surviving heroes whose courage and bravery was fittingly recognized by a grateful country by the award of the Medal of Honor are as follows:
HENRY G. BUHRMAN,
Private, Co. H, 54th Ohio Inf.
And Others: